Qitchirvik
by KLessard
Summary: Constables Fraser and MacKenzie come to face a vicious drug addict and his pusher during December's long polar night. A symbolic study of the powers of evil confronted to the salvation found in Christmas.
It was December the fifth. The time was 12:01 p.m. Constables Fraser, MacKenzie and Alunik had stepped outside Inuvik's Royal Canadian Mounted Police detachment for a last glimpse of the sun before it set for a month, plunging the town in its annual period of total obscurity. The air was cold but dry. There wasn't much sun to talk about, only a solar glow that was soon to fade away, but the officers needed these last minutes of daylight like a precious gulp of fresh air before a dive.
"You went undercover as a woman?" was an incredulous Alunik's question to Fraser who had spent the last five years in Chicago. "Under what circumstances?"  
"My old partner, Ray Vecchio, was looking for a female officer to act as substitute teacher at Saint Fortunata's Catholic boarding school. Personnel were exclusively female, and we needed information about a missing student. No one was available, so I volunteered."  
"Benton Fraser, you did not!" MacKenzie snapped.  
"I did."  
"And it worked? You'd be unusually tall for a woman," Alunik observed.  
"I even fooled my colleagues at the precinct."  
"No way. And what did Inspector Thatcher think of this?"  
"She never found out. But she became suspicious when she smelled perfume on me."  
MacKenzie was spellbound.  
"Now, that's something I'd like to try."  
"Go undercover as a man, you mean?"  
"Ha!"  
"I don't think you could pull this off, MacKenzie."  
"I could too."  
"Oh, we all know you got the balls," Alunik said, "but…with a face like yours?"  
"I could add a fake beard!" she retorted, enthusiastically. "Bring it!"

Diefenbaker, who had been strolling about the building for a moment, joined the constables aligned like identical monuments in their muskrat fur hats and indigo coats. The wolfdog looked rather pleased with himself.  
"Have you sprayed the detachment to your heart's content?" Fraser asked. "I guess it's officially your territory, now."  
Diefenbaker paid no attention to his remark and began sniffing MacKenzie's coat pocket.  
"You want some of this?" she asked, producing two pemmican morsels and handing them to the wolf.  
"Well, I'd rather have him on a pemmican diet than doughnuts and cheeseburgers," Fraser affirmed.  
"Gird up your loins with strength, constables," Sergeant Matthews called, showing his red moustache at the door. "We have a case of breaking and entering on the east side."

The constables were immediately dispatched to the house of octogenarian Isaac Kaglik, who had barely managed to make the call before being severely beaten by a young thief. The assailant had fled with his late wife's jewellery and a tin box in which Kaglik collected money for a non-profit organization. Mr Kaglik was found lying on the floor with a nosebleed, broken ribs and a fractured wrist. An ambulance soon arrived; the old man wept as his body was secured onto the stretcher, not so much from the pain but for the loss of his wife's possessions and the memories attached to them. Speaking the Inuvialuktun tongue, he held Constable Alunik's hand, expressing his incomprehension at the thief's insensibility and blatant intrusion. Fraser and MacKenzie could only make out some of the words as the rest got lost in the intensity of Kaglik's emotional outburst.

Fraser was left behind to collect evidence; MacKenzie and Alunik pursued the thief following a set of tracks in the snow. Diefenbaker ran ahead, led by his snout, his input proving very useful when the tracks disappeared among many on the main street.

Fraser learned that the culprit had been wise enough to wear gloves; no fingerprints could be found at the crime scene. He accompanied Mr Kaglik to the Regional Hospital. Medical personnel tended to the victim's injuries, administered an analgesic and settled him in bed. When he felt comfortable enough to talk, Fraser sat down with the old man, pad and pen in hand, ready to draw a sketch of his assailant.  
"How would you describe the suspect, Mr Kaglik?"  
"Inuvialuk. No older than twenty. He had long black hair, down to the shoulders."  
"Any particularity such as a birthmark, scar or tattoo?"  
"I didn't notice anything like that."  
"How tall was he?"  
"Not much taller than myself. Scrawny."  
Fraser estimated 162 centimetres, but the blankets covering the man interfered with his approximation.  
"And how tall are you exactly?"  
"Five foot three."

Diefenbaker led the constables to a scarlet habitation comprised within one of Inuvik's many Smartie Box houses. Alunik shot a telling glance at MacKenzie: they had been here before, always failing to produce enough proof to arrest the occupant; Ken McLeod was suspected of involvement in the drug trade, yet knew how to cover his tracks and use the law to his advantage. Alunik rang the bell. An elegant young man dressed in a charcoal suit and tie opened the door with a puzzled look on his face.  
"Ken McLeod, what a pleasant surprise!" MacKenzie exclaimed with a sarcastic grin.  
"What can I do for you, constables?"  
"So that's your new game, beating up the elderly and making away with their meagre possessions?" Alunik asked.  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
"Isaac Kaglik. Where did you put the loot?"  
"I don't know any Isaac Kaglik. Do you have a warrant?"  
"Not yet," MacKenzie said. "I see you've had time to change and wash the blood from your hands."  
McLeod shook his head.  
"What day is it, Constable MacKenzie?"  
"Sunday. What's your point?"  
"I always attend mass with my mother on Sundays. I was at church all morning. Call her and ask her yourself."  
"I'll be damned," Alunik muttered. "And you steal money from charities? Do you have any intentions of ever showing your faith by your works?"  
"I didn't steal anything."  
"Our sniff dog tracked the thief all the way to your place. If you didn't do the dirty work, it was your client, maybe? Is he buying from you?"  
"Buying what?"  
"Is he here?"  
"I'm alone. Nobody came since I returned from mass."  
MacKenzie did not believe a word of it. She jammed her hand under McLeod's jaw for his pulse and stared deep into his eyes.  
"He's hiding something," she said without hesitation.  
"She's strangling me! I will file a complaint for excessive force!" McLeod threatened.  
MacKenzie's gesture had reached the point of brutality, but Alunik did nothing to stop her. He should have, as he was ten years her senior, but the constable found his subordinate's antics rather entertaining and had to refrain from laughing. He shared her frustration of seeing McLeod slip from their fingers on every occasion and found his arrogance aggravating. Dealing with this delinquent was like attempting to catch a slimy fish with bare hands.  
Fraser's voice came on the constable's radio: "Constable Alunik? We have positive identification on one Jake Thrasher, released from the North Slave Young Offender Facility last month. He'd been convicted for petty theft and drug possession. From Mr Kaglik's account, I strongly believe Thrasher was experiencing severe withdrawal. He's right back at it."  
MacKenzie was undeterred. McLeod had reacted strangely to the culprit's name.  
"Drug possession? This is not looking good for you, McLeod," she said. "We'll see you soon. You can count on it."

Jake Thrasher's mug shot was published in the _Inuvik Drum_ and a warning issued across the Mackenzie Delta regarding the offender's violent nature. "Keep your doors and windows locked at all times," news anchors instructed; the unsuspecting residents listened in a stupor, then got up to verify every entry. RCMP officers were soon dispatched to patrol areas known for drug trafficking and all suspicious activity was closely monitored.

Constable Fraser was on foot patrol downtown three days later when he chanced upon his half-sister's childhood friend, Sarah Kudlak, and her young daughter Aluki; they were both laden with heavy bags as they made their way to a black car parked by the grocery store.  
"Sarah? Let me help!" Fraser called out, relieving them of their burdens.  
"Thank you, Benton…Are you on patrol?"  
"I am. That's a lot of supplies! Are you planning an expedition?"  
"Most of this stuff is for my folks on the trapline. I'm going to spend a few days at the cabin. I want Aluki to see her grandparents and learn about the trade. Maggie's also asked me to check on her mother's place to ensure everything's in order."  
"It will be a great experience for your daughter."  
Aluki looked up, down and up again, observing the ray of light emitted from a small lamp fastened to her forehead. Diefenbaker followed the light with much curiosity.  
"That's a nice headlamp you got there, Aluki. You won't lose your way in the dark."  
"My dad brought it from Whitehorse."  
Sarah closed the trunk.  
"Is your husband out on deliveries?" Fraser asked.  
"He is. But he'll fly back for the holidays…I bet you didn't miss this darkness back in Chicago."  
"Oh well..."  
"At least there's Christmas to brighten it up," she said, indicating the colourful lights around the street. "Have you and Maggie planned anything? Are you going to visit some relatives?"  
"We haven't talked about it yet."  
"If you would like to celebrate with us, you are welcome to. Maggie spent Christmas with our family last year…She wasn't in much of a festive mood, to say the least."  
"I can imagine that."  
"Anything new on that thief, Thrasher?"  
"Unfortunately not. Either he's keeping quiet or he's left town, but there's been no sign of him these last few days."  
"Is he from these parts?"  
"Aklavik, actually. Maggie and Alunik think he's paired up with a young drug dealer they've been trying to nab for a while; his family has a cabin on the trapline and they went down there thinking Thrasher was hiding in the bush, but they returned empty-handed."  
"I hope you catch him soon. Everybody's feeling nervous knowing he might be lurking around the corner, you know."  
Sarah fastened her daughter's seatbelt and sat behind the wheel.  
"Ilaatnilu!" Fraser saluted as she waved goodbye.

Constable Fraser was home by six and stirring the contents of an aluminum pot when his sister showed up at the door carrying a large cardboard box.  
"Benton, I got that moose meat for you."  
"Oh, yes, thank you. Come on in."  
Fraser took the box to the kitchen and filled his freezer with the individually wrapped meat portions.  
"How much do I owe you?"  
"It's on the house."  
"Do you want to stay for supper? I'm experimenting with this black duck soup recipe."  
"Thanks, I'd love to. Do you need a hand?"  
"I'm almost done."  
"Where's Diefenbaker?"  
"He doesn't like soup, so he went out hunting for his meal."  
MacKenzie cut the box's tape with her pocket knife, folded the cardboard and left it by the door. She hung her parka on a hook, drew the living room curtain and had a look outside.  
"You should lock your door with that rascal out there, Benton," she said, having found it open as she came in. "I know you could probably handle him, but you never know."  
"I forgot."  
"Or maybe you should leave it…Turn the lights off, put something valuable in the window and lead the thief right to the police!"  
"That's another option."  
"Are you game?"  
"I wonder what Sergeant Matthews would think of this kind of initiative," Fraser giggled.  
But MacKenzie thought a thief would not bother breaking into her brother's house, empty as it was. Every room was still primer white; Fraser had not spent much effort making this new place feel like home.  
"Are you going to hang anything on the walls? It's a bit plain."  
"I should."  
"I could find you a nice set of antlers if you like. Or you could get a piece of art from one of the artisans at the festival in July."  
The only thing Fraser had arranged with care was a high shelf containing over a hundred books; atop stood a wooden deer figurine MacKenzie thought she had seen before.  
"I remember this sculpture from your office at the consulate. Where did you get it?"  
"I made it."  
"You _made_ this? I didn't know you were into wood carving. Are you some kind of genius?"  
"Not that I'm aware of."  
"You're self-taught in so many things…Is it from reading all these books? It was a strange chance you had, being raised by traveling librarians, having access to all this knowledge…I wish I were so book smart. I should read more."  
"Feel free to borrow any of these."  
MacKenzie flipped through some of the volumes.  
"Did you like it? Travelling across the North, meeting all sorts of people?"  
"It was quite an experience. But all this travel means you're being constantly uprooted. I sometimes feel like my life was a succession of losses: losing my mother when she died, losing Dad when he sent me to live with my grandparents, being torn from friends when we had to move, my grandparents getting old and dying…A mountie's work also consists of frequent transfers and the cycle continues, it becomes a way of life. You get tired of it. To tell you the truth, I dread my next transfer. I would like to settle down."  
"You just got here in the fall…! Are they talking of having you transferred already?"  
MacKenzie stared, ostensibly grieved at the prospect.  
"No, no," Fraser replied. "It's just that feeling of growing new roots again…I met many officers who enjoyed the change of scenery, craved it even; they hated to be stuck in a rut. They felt fine about having friends for a season and moving on. I find it hard myself."  
"I can't say I'm too familiar with that feeling. I've always lived around here…Although I find the Force's mentality to be changing in that respect, at least for Aboriginal communities; after all the mess we've made, officers being well-known and trusted by the local people is part of the solution. They want us to stay and get involved. I mean, they sent me back home as soon as I left the Depot. They knew I understood the culture. Or maybe they shipped me here because no one wants to come to Inuvik anyway. Must be the mosquitoes."  
The sound of soft footsteps and a body brushing against the door gave MacKenzie a start. She stood motionless and glanced at Fraser. An object was dropped on the porch followed by some loud barking. Fraser opened the door and Diefenbaker walked in, two fat grouses hanging from his mouth.  
"Can't you eat that outside?" the man asked. "You'll make a bloody mess."  
The wolf grumbled and Fraser returned to the kitchen shaking his head.  
"You've become citified," MacKenzie muttered, cutting up the cardboard box and spreading it on the floor for an Inuit tablecloth.

It was a quarter to nine when Ken McLeod met his new clients on the corner of Stringer and Breynat. A sixteen-year-old Inuvialuk holding his girlfriend by the hand walked up the dark street and joined McLeod in the bushes.  
"Lennie?"  
The young man nodded and counted his bills as McLeod watched, holding a small flashlight.  
"Planning a party?"  
"Yeah, big thing going on Friday night."  
"I heard."  
McLeod handed Lennie his 3,5 grams of cocaine and stuffed the money in his coat pocket. They were about to part when Constable MacKenzie passed right in front of them and sat at the wheel of her Ford pickup.  
"Get back!" McLeod exclaimed, pulling the teenagers deeper into the hedges.  
The red truck drove away, but McLeod was shaking in his boots.  
"You didn't tell me that mountie lived in these parts!"  
"She doesn't. She bought a trailer southeast of town after her husband got shot," the girl replied. "She probably came to see the new guy. It's her brother, they say. He's nuts. He has a deaf wolf for a pet but still has long arguments with him…The wolf reads lips, he says."  
McLeod became suspicious.  
"Did they put you up to it?"  
"Up to what?"  
"That damn mountie's been breathing down my neck for weeks. This is not a safe place to meet! Next time, _I_ pick the spot."  
Lennie shrugged and left. He remembered Constable MacKenzie coming to school with an elaborate presentation on the addictive nature of hard drugs, meaning well and meaning business. He began to wonder if her turning up at the very moment he decided to experiment with the substances wasn't some kind of strange sign.

* * *

Jake Thrasher was sitting on a stump on the outskirts of town, aching and shaking. He pulled on his thin coat sleeves to cover his bare hands from the cold. He'd lost his gloves on a high a few days earlier. His cocaine supply had run out in the morning; the craving was so dreadful he'd been scurrying for any valuable he could sell for a fresh pack. But his face was now known all over town and his options were limited. "Get me some pelts," McLeod had said, "My uncle lets me use his license while he is away. I can sell those easy and I'll take care of it." Thrasher watched from his stump as old-timer Cliff Norris filled a month's worth of trapping into his pickup truck. It was so simple it was almost a joke. Thrasher jumped in as the trapper went back inside to turn the lights on and lock the door behind him. The thief's small stature allowed him to disappear under the pelts and Norris didn't bat an eye. The truck was in motion when Thrasher made a summary assessment of his booty. He had a good laugh when he found a white fox among the load. He'd sure scored a jackpot that would keep him high for days! The thief swiftly filled his coat, canvas sack and loose pant legs with as many pelts as he could, then looked for a snow bank to soften his fall. Norris only saw a black flash land on the shoulder and it took him a full minute to realize what had befallen him. Thrasher was well hidden in a clump of spruce trees by then and blessed the darkness for making his game so easy.  
Cliff Norris headed straight for the RCMP detachment and reported the theft.  
"Could you provide a list of the stolen pelts?" Alunik asked.  
"I sure could. And there was a single arctic fox in the lot, so I think it could easily be recognized."  
"We will contact the Environment and Natural Resource office."  
"Anything you could tell us about the thief?" Fraser asked.  
"Not much, unfortunately. A little guy. His clothes were dark."  
"Would you allow us to examine the truck?"  
"Be my guests."  
Diefenbaker was brought outside to sniff the cargo; Thrasher was identified by his smell and by a long black hair stuck to a lynx pelt the man had left behind.

Ken McLeod's phone rang an hour later.  
"I got the pelts," Thrasher said. "Meet me at the cemetery."  
The thief waited twenty minutes. He grew impatient, knowing he could be spotted with his odd get-up. Perhaps fixing that pelt to his head was a bad idea, but it was a frigid day and the fur kept him warm. He was rather surprised to see a Gwich'in girl entering the cemetery on her way back from school and stopping before a grave for a moment of reflection. The teenager was about to head home when she caught a glimpse of Thrasher hiding behind a wall. She wondered what this strange mascot was doing in the graveyard with a wolverine pelt on his head, but then her eyes opened wide as she recognized the man whose picture had hit the paper's front page a few days earlier. She panicked and hastened away; Thrasher read her intentions too well. The thief ran up to her, seized her from behind and tightened his grasp around her neck until she passed out. He hit her with a mighty blow to the head and was attempting to hide her in the snow when McLeod's car stopped at the entrance.  
"At last!" Thrasher raged.  
"Is that a dead girl?" McLeod hesitated.  
"No, she's still alive. I had to; she was going to tell on me."  
McLeod was stunned. Was it safe to deal with Thrasher still? Things were starting to get too dirty for his taste. He exited the vehicle and filled his trunk with the thief's loot. Thrasher took his first snort and sighed.  
"You got to help me find a place to hide, Ken. Could you let me stay at your uncle's cabin on the trapline?"  
"Too risky, Jake, I'm sorry. But hop in before anyone sees us. I know a place. We might as well combine business and pleasure and piss off that bastard mountie."

* * *

The "bastard mountie," as she was now spitefully called by Inuvik's underworld, arrived at the detachment for her evening shift. She was accosted by Sergeant Matthews on his way out of the office.  
"Constable MacKenzie! There's a development regarding the Thrasher case. We have another assault victim. I need you to go to the hospital and take her statement. She just came to and she's ready to talk."  
"Another victim?" MacKenzie asked, opening the file her superior had handed her. "Who is she?"  
"Fourteen-year-old Clara Snowshoe, room 31. She was found half-buried in the snow by a passer-by at the cemetery. She was suffering from severe hypothermia. Your brother gathered some evidence and identified Thrasher's boot tracks."

MacKenzie met the girl lying on her hospital bed, her mother sitting by her side holding her hand. With a considerably hoarse voice, the weak adolescent revealed some details confirming Thrasher's link to the pelt theft. The Environment and Natural Resource office was alerted. Ken McLeod presented himself at the counter two days later. He confidently handed over his uncle's licence, but soon realized something had run amok when the officer made a lengthy inspection of the arctic fox pelt, consulted a list and made a few calls. Sweat had begun dripping from his forehead when the bastard mountie appeared in the doorway, her irate, piercing gaze meeting his from a distance. And McLeod understood his game was over. Hiding under a mask of righteousness was no longer possible; he was officially a criminal. He had refused to admit this until that very instant, but the realization put a spring in his step and Ken McLeod ran like he had never run before. The young man left the building using an emergency exit and headed straight for the thick clump of trees bordering the office where Fraser and MacKenzie followed and engaged in a wild match of cat and mouse. Bullets whistled past his ears as he scurried away, and when Fraser reached out and almost grasped his sleeve, McLeod thought he would faint from fear and exhaustion. But the woodlot ended abruptly and McLeod found himself on Gwich'in Road across from where a house stood with a snowmobile in the backyard. The owner had been careless enough to leave the key in the ignition. McLeod did not think twice. He straddled the vehicle and rode out into the bush, leaving the constables panting behind him. There was relief and satisfaction at first. However, penetrating into the darkness' nether regions made him feel increasingly alone. It occurred to him that he would have to hide away, that he had cut himself from the light and from society. He had been wading in murky waters for a few months now, managing to lie to himself about the nature of his lucrative business, but like Thrasher, he was a thief; not only because of the snowmobile, but because he stole lives for a living, making slaves out of youngsters hungry for a trip or thirsting after any substance to numb the pain, even for a short while. As he made his way to the trapline, McLeod gave up and entered the survival cycle.

* * *

Fraser and MacKenzie were put on highway patrol the following day. MacKenzie waited at the wheel, checking on the radar and radio systems until Fraser joined her shivering from head to toe, his fur hat's flaps fastened tightly underneath his chin.  
"May I?" he asked, turning the vehicle's heat up.  
"Go ahead…It's a bit brisk today, eh?"  
"My furnace broke down."  
"No!"  
"It was a rude awakening this morning. But it'll be fixed soon."  
"I hope so. You're growing fond of that hat, aren't you?"  
"I hate it. But I appreciate its warmth. I do believe Chicago's mild winters have spoiled me."  
Diefenbaker sat up on the back seat and stuck his head through the aperture in the Plexiglas window dividing the passenger compartment in two.  
"Was he good last night?" Fraser asked.  
"Very good."  
"He knows which side his bread is buttered on."  
The white wolf had acquired a habit of following Constable MacKenzie home once in a while. He had spent the previous night on her sofa and accompanied her to work at daybreak. Fraser wondered why Diefenbaker agreed to come along on these dull patrol shifts, but he seemed to find his own pleasures in the activity, running around the bushes and gulping down the occasional hare when the constables had to stop, expanding his territory to a vast portion of the Dempster Highway. What wild wolves understood of this odd urine pattern Fraser could not tell, but he appreciated the animal's contribution to the work. Offenders on their way to the detachment were particularly quiet when Diefenbaker sat with them in the back seat, that is, once the alarm had passed and they had been sufficiently reassured of the canine's tameness. It did not occur to the constables that the offenders' stillness was also due to their fear of these perplexing peace officers who carried a wolf in their patrol car, tasted evidence from impaired drivers' vehicles and enjoyed lengthy conversations on traditional Inuit hunting weaponry.  
The morning went smoothly. After issuing a dozen speeding tickets and handling a car crash, the constables stopped for lunch near the Richardson Mountains. They dined on smoked char sandwiches, black tea and a few handfuls of blueberries MacKenzie had picked and frozen during the summer months. The mountain range, magnificent in its autumn colours, was now a series of ominous masses under December's blue shadows; an uneasy sense of vulnerability had replaced the awe and freedom the vista usually inspired. The constables were about to resume their patrol when a lone Dall ram crossed the highway and stopped before the vehicle. The white animal stared at the officers in the most unusual way, its solid curling horns pointing nobly towards the sky.

The constables were approaching town in the afternoon when Fraser remembered an envelope he'd stuffed in his coat pocket upon leaving the detachment.  
"I found this on my desk."  
"It's Sergeant Matthews' Christmas card. He hands them out early."  
Fraser opened the envelope and pulled out a greeting card representing the Nativity in a stained-glass window.  
"What Scripture did you get?"  
"There's Scripture in the cards too?"  
"What did you expect?"  
Fraser grinned. He was now well aware of his superior's tendency to adorn every sentence with King James poetry.  
"'He hath delivered us from the power of darkness, and hath translated us into the kingdom of his dear Son.'"  
"So full of Christmas cheer!"  
"What did you get?"  
"Something about people dwelling in the land of the shadow of death seeing a great light."  
"…Does it get to you?"  
"What?"  
"This everlasting night."  
"Last year it did. Badly."  
"Because of your husband's murder?"  
MacKenzie nodded.  
"…There's always something mysterious and even thrilling about the darkness at first. But it always weighs you down and overwhelms you in the end."  
"True enough…I hear dealers and bootleggers have a name for you now."  
"The 'bastard mountie?' Yeah, I heard…One of them called me that to my face from his cell the other day. Alunik told him to watch his tongue. When he brought his meal, he'd poured about half a bottle of Tabasco into his food."  
"He did? Get out!"  
"Yes, he did."  
"I owe him one for this!"  
MacKenzie had a vague smile.  
"…Does that hurt you?"  
"How would you feel?"  
Fraser had thought MacKenzie would let the insult about her illegitimate conception slip like water off a duck's back; her tone revealed she was not amused. He laid his hand on the nape of her neck and squeezed it gently to comfort her. MacKenzie wished he hadn't; affection made her woozy and she lost her focus on the road.  
"You know what this means, though. They call you names because you are known to the underworld; they ought to tread lightly when you're onto them. They fear you. You must be doing something right."  
"It's still mean."  
"I know."  
From his sister's silence, Fraser understood he should have avoided the subject. Yet he had discovered how her independence and iron resolve to show strength could lead her to bottle up feelings to a hazardous extreme. He tried to make her talk whenever sullenness overshadowed her behaviour. The "bastard mountie" affront had cut deeper than expected; MacKenzie's reputation was at stake as a load of shame inherited by no fault of her own was handed for her to bear. Gaining a half-brother meant letting Inuvik know about her begetters' sin; seeing how news had spread like wildfire, she'd concluded that many whom she considered friends were really deceitful gossips who had added colours and details to the story she'd rather not know about.  
"It hurts me too," Fraser said, after a moment. "I don't want them to insult you."  
A thick silence filled the patrol car once more until Diefenbaker began barking at a moose standing on the shoulder.  
"Do you sometimes wish this had not come out?" Fraser asked.  
"No. I'd be living a lie and we'd still be apart. I'd rather put up with the consequences. But I do wish my mother had been honest."  
"Things could have been so different. I feel robbed when I think about it."  
"You could have come back, maybe…You resent Dad for sending you away?"  
"I did for years, but I came to forgive him. If there was anything to forgive, really. I understand why he had to do it and he left me in good hands. But even when you understand, you can't just snap out of feeling abandoned…No, I feel robbed that no one told me when you were born. I was miles away…I didn't get to hold you. That would have been meaningful to me."  
Fraser had never expressed his feelings towards the late Ellen MacKenzie before; she was a stranger to him. But bitterness had begun to seep in about what her lie had left in its wake.  
"It's done now," MacKenzie said, softly.  
"I know."

Fraser squinted as a black car driving in the opposite direction caught his attention.  
"That vehicle's flashing at us."  
"Isn't that Sarah's car?"  
"I think it is."  
The car stopped by the wayside and Sarah Kudlak stepped out, waving her arm at the officers. MacKenzie immobilized the vehicle.  
"Sarah? Is there something wrong?"  
"I thought I'd find you on the Dempster…Jake Trasher's on the trapline."  
"What?"  
"You're not going to like this. He broke into your mother's cabin and he's in there with a friend right now. They have a snowmobile. They looked kind of high to me, so I think there might be drugs involved."  
"I can't believe this," MacKenzie fumed. "Who is this friend? Could it be Ken McLeod?"  
"I don't know his name, but I've seen him at church."  
"Twenty-something Caucasian, slight build, light brown hair, crew cut."  
"He would fit the description."  
"A personal attack, you think?" Fraser asked. "Does he know where your mother's cabin is?"  
"He could know."  
"Thank you kindly for the tip, Sarah," Fraser said. "Go back to your cabin and lock yourself up with your family. Thrasher is a violent offender. If he is mean enough to assault an old man, he wouldn't mind hurting a child."  
Sarah hastened back to her vehicle.

The officers drove to the late Ellen MacKenzie's quarry and parked the patrol car on the shoulder. Fraser opened the back door to let Diefenbaker out.  
"Diefenbaker can't come," MacKenzie objected. "It's rigged with snares out there."  
"On your quarry? Did you set any traps lately?"  
"No, but he might wander off."  
"We need him. We'll keep an eye on him."  
"Easier said than done."  
"He's cunning. He wouldn't get trapped so easily."  
"I don't like this, Benton."  
The officers left following a snow-covered trail through the brush. Ellen MacKenzie's log cabin was soon in sight, a faint glow illuminating its front windows.  
"If they're high, it could be a piece of cake," MacKenzie remarked. "Hopefully, they'll only come to their senses once they're locked up at the detachment."  
MacKenzie indicated a window at the back where they could observe the offenders discreetly. The constables recognized Jake Thrasher and Ken McLeod sitting on the sofa, their faces revealed by the flames of emergency candles set on the coffee table. Cocaine paraphernalia lay scattered around a piece of white cardboard.  
"What are they doing?"  
"I think they're playing a board game," Fraser answered. "Looks like a makeshift Ouija board."  
The cabin was poorly lit, but Fraser and MacKenzie swore they could see a black mist surrounding the players. Both men seemed rather calm and absorbed in their game until Thrasher stood up and began gesticulating in an outlandish manner. The thin man engaged in a serpent-like dance, his head leaning forward in sudden thrusts. McLeod was startled; he began backing away as Thrasher approached aggressively. The constables feared a fight would erupt; they thought it best to act quickly. MacKenzie was instructed to guard the door and snowmobile, ready to intercept the men if they tried to escape; Fraser would enter followed by Diefenbaker and call for backup in a timely manner. MacKenzie put her revolver in cocked position.  
Fraser pushed the door open and presented himself to the confused men:  
"Jake Thrasher, you are under arrest for theft, physical assault and drug possession. You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so. You have nothing to hope from any promise of favour and nothing to fear from any threat whether or not you say anything…"  
Fraser spoke calmly, seizing Thrasher's wrists and placing the handcuffs around them. Panic-stricken, McLeod was about to make a run for it, but Diefenbaker stood in his way and growled. Thrasher was surprisingly docile and let the constable do his business. Fraser believed the man was still under the influence until his body stiffened. With one quick pull, Thrasher broke the chain off his cuffs and gave a solid punch to Fraser's stomach. McLeod yelped and headed for the door. Diefenbaker leapt and bit his parka sleeve, but the man would not be stopped.  
"Maggie!" Fraser cried.  
McLeod ran for his life, the wolf's fangs still attached to his clothing; he brutally pushed MacKenzie out of his way and jumped on the snowmobile, riding away into the bush with Diefenbaker on his heels. MacKenzie fired three shots and missed. She walked in to see Thrasher grip Fraser by his patrol coat, lifting his body up in the air and hurling him effortlessly across the room. Fraser landed on his lumbar spine, his vision immediately obscured from the shock.  
"Sweet Jesus!" MacKenzie whispered, her hands trembling on her weapon.  
Thrasher became very still. He turned around, his eyes so full of hatred that MacKenzie's heart skipped a beat; she had the distinctive feeling that the soul staring at her was not human and wished to shred her to pieces.  
"I can't bear that name!" the man shrieked, retreating to the darkest corner of the cabin.  
Thrasher's bloodcurdling voice sounded like that of a bitter old woman and presented an accent MacKenzie could not identify.  
Fraser lay flat on his back, his spine throbbing with pain. MacKenzie held Thrasher at gunpoint and could only think of reciting the Lord's Prayer in her mind.  
"Stop it!" the man howled.  
 _Your kingdom come, your will be done_ … Thrasher bounced out of the shadows, his demonic face distorted with the most threatening expression MacKenzie had ever seen. He ran towards the constable who immediately pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced Thrasher's right arm and stopped him in his thrust. He fell on the woman who quickly crawled away from the limp body.  
"…Is he dead?" Fraser asked after a moment.  
MacKenzie hesitantly took Thrasher's pulse.  
"He's unconscious…I just winged him."  
The officer knelt down by her brother still panting on the floor. She remembered the bullet lodged in his spine from a previous injury.  
"Ben? Is it your back? Can you move?"  
"Yes. Can you help me up?"  
Dizziness from the impact was slowly dissipating. MacKenzie pulled Fraser up and helped him to sit on the sofa. She lit up the room using a lantern found by the door and sat very close to her brother, keeping a sharp eye on Thrasher.  
"What on earth was that?" she mumbled after alerting the detachment.  
Fraser inspected the board game constituted of a large piece of cardboard on which the alphabet had been written by hand as well as the numbers 1234567890 and the words "Yes" and "No".  
"It _is_ a Ouija board," he said.  
He examined the chunk of spruce bark the players had used as a planchette.  
"You've played this game before?"  
"No, but I saw a picture in a book."  
Fraser knelt down, exposing Thrasher's wrist still enclosed in a shackle bracelet with a broken chain dangling from it.  
"I daresay he was possessed."  
"Possessed?" MacKenzie echoed, surprised to hear this rational man come to such a conclusion. "Is he still?"  
"I couldn't tell. Most of his symptoms could be explained by his cocaine addiction, but considering his muscle mass, his phenomenal strength doesn't make any sense."  
The constable unlocked both bracelets and put them away to keep as evidence. MacKenzie was afraid to approach Thrasher, but felt obliged to fetch the first aid kit and stop his bleeding. Fraser removed the man's coat and shirt and noticed deep scratch marks on his chest.  
Fingerprints and evidence were collected pending the ambulance's arrival. Thraser was taken away. He would be found dead of undetermined causes in his hospital bed the next day.

* * *

Sarah Kudlak returned to the family cabin to find her mother sewing mukluks by the stove.  
"Where are the others?" she asked.  
"Roy took Aluki to check his traps."

Roy Elias had almost reached the end of his quarry, satisfied with the red fox and mink he had caught, when a plaintive sound rose among the bushes. Aluki swept the trail with her tiny headlamp. The light revealed a white wolf with his right hind leg stuck in a wire snare.  
"A white wolf, Aluki!" Elias exclaimed, marvelling at the catch. "Would you look at him! What a beautiful pelt."  
Aluki examined the animal carefully. Her curiosity soon turned to alarm.  
"Daduk, we can't, that's Diefenbaker!"  
"Diefenbaker?"  
"Benton Fraser's wolf. He's some kind of police dog."  
"A police dog? He probably just looks like him."  
"No, it _is_ him, I recognize him. See, he recognizes me too."  
Aluki reached out to let the wolf sniff her hand.  
"Don't get near him!" Elias cried, dragging her away brusquely. "He'll bite you!"  
"He's not mean, Daduk."  
Roy Elias was puzzled to see the wolf whimper as if pleading for his freedom. He was used to trapped wolves showing fear and aggressive behaviour; this was different.  
"I must admit he seems pretty tame."  
Aluki begged, and the trapper agreed to let him go, still skeptical about the police dog story. Yet the animal had something of a half-breed, and he thought a lost sled dog had probably wandered into his quarry. Ordering the child to move away, he set to release the canine, expecting to see him decamp into the bush. But Diefenbaker limped around the trail for a while, barking at Aluki's intention.

* * *

Fraser and MacKenzie examined the tracks left by the stolen snowmobile and Diefenbaker's following closely behind.  
"They headed towards Sarah's quarry." MacKenzie said.  
The constables' patrol shift was almost over and they decided to drive to the Eliases' cabin to ask if they had seen the fugitive. MacKenzie knocked.  
"Sarah? It's Maggie."  
Sarah Kudlak opened the door with a sigh of relief.  
"Are you folks all right?"  
"We're fine."  
"McLeod's escaped us. He went your way. You didn't happen to see him, did you?"  
"I don't know, but Mom says a snowmobile passed by real fast about an hour ago. We haven't got McLeod, but we got Diefenbaker."  
Sarah let the officers in; Diefenbaker was lying on a blanket with his head resting on Aluki's knees.  
"Did he come here on his own?" Fraser inquired.  
"He was stuck in one of my traps," Roy Elias answered.  
MacKenzie shot a sidelong glare at her brother.  
"You're lucky Aluki recognized him and insisted. He could be a pelt."  
Fraser swallowed hard. But Diefenbaker did not seem to feel sorry for himself as he greatly enjoyed being fed bits of raw muskrat meat and having this little girl running her toy comb through his thick fur.  
"What about Thrasher? Did you arrest him?"  
"He's on his way to the hospital. I had to shoot. He attacked Benton and would have attacked me. Have a look at this…"  
Fraser left and returned with the evidence sealed in clear plastic bags. He handed Thrasher's cuffs to Sarah.  
"He broke his cuffs? …How?"  
Fraser mimicked the convict's pulling movement with a click of the tongue. Sarah was speechless.  
"I swear something ungodly was going on out there, Sarah. I saw him lift Benton's whole body and toss him as if he'd been as light as a feather. You saw Thrasher on the news…He's tiny, about half of Benton's weight."  
"We also found this," Fraser said, showing the makeshift board game.  
Sarah took a step back.  
"Maggie, you should burn this."  
"We can't, it's evidence," Fraser replied.  
"Well, take it out of here! Dear God, it's just like the Gadarene man in the gospels."  
Sergeant Matthew's voice was heard on Fraser's radio:  
"Constable Fraser?"  
"Yes sir, I'm listening."  
"Looks like Ken McLeod was convicted of sin, righteousness and judgment. We just found him shaking and crying like a baby at the Igloo church."  
"Really? What about the snowmobile?"  
"He'd left it by the church door. Where are you now?"  
"We're still on the trapline."  
"All right. Wrap it up and return to the detachment."  
"Understood."

Fraser and MacKenzie drove back to town, completed their paperwork and called it a night.  
"Hey, your furnace's been fixed, right?" MacKenzie asked, zipping up her patrol coat.  
"The repairman is coming tomorrow."  
"What? It must be the Tuktoyaktuk community freezer in there."  
"Oh, some warm blankets and I'll be fine. I've seen worse."  
"Benton, I can't let you, it's too cold. Come to my place until it's fixed. Please."

MacKenzie was relieved to see Fraser consent without too much fuss. She did care about his well-being, but secretly dreaded spending the night alone in her trailer after such a disturbing scene on the trapline. She couldn't forget Thrasher's look and unnatural voice. Childhood was the last time she had experienced this kind of fear. And how disheartening to live in this continuous night with no morning to ease your anxiety! Physical danger, she had grown gritty enough to face head on, but this was immaterial; she could not comprehend or classify it. How did it come about, how could you protect yourself and others from it?

Fraser thought supper at the convivial Café Gallery would take their minds off things. It did for a while; being surrounded by busy people planning family gatherings and sharing in the spirit of Christmas was somewhat comforting. The clash between this cheerfulness and the glance they'd been granted into the abyss was startling. And with this opposition, Fraser and MacKenzie believed they had grasped an aspect of the holiday they had never felt or reflected on before. They had touched the cornerstone.

The constables finished their meal and bravely faced the cold, stopping at the detachment to get Diefenbaker, then heading southeast following the Mackenzie Road. Both Fraser and MacKenzie chose to walk to work and saw it as good exercise, but the wind was particularly cruel that night. Inuvik's colourful buildings became scarce and clumps of black spruce stood in their place. MacKenzie's trailer finally appeared on the horizon, its bright lantern a welcome sight for the stone-cold officers.  
"Oh man, my legs feel like icicles," MacKenzie declared as she took her boots off.  
The young woman undid her hair and changed her uniform shirt for a woollen sweater. Fraser had been fascinated to discover that beyond the strict police hairstyle, his sister's locks were rather wild and wavy. The contrast amused him.  
"Are you laughing at my hair again?"  
"I'm not."  
"You are."  
"It's like a whole new persona," he chuckled, pulling on his necktie.

The officers sat down to watch the evening news.  
"Can you grab that throw?" MacKenzie asked, indicating a fur heap by the sofa.  
Fraser reached down and unfolded the pelt assemblage.  
"Great Scott! Where did you get this?"  
"They're lynx pelts my mother trapped through the years. They were too damaged to sell. We've had it since I was a little girl."  
MacKenzie spread the throw over their legs and put an end to their shivering. The siblings listened attentively for development regarding the brand new territory of Nunavut. It had felt rather strange to see this large piece of land separate from theirs and become a territory of its own earlier that year. There was melancholy and curiosity all at once. But the news anchor's soothing voice and physical exhaustion got the better of them and the constables were soon asleep under their furry blanket.  
They were halfway through the _Red Green Christmas Special_ when Diefenbaker began howling at the window. Fraser's sleepy eyes instantly fell on ribbons of white light dancing across the inky skies. Aurora Borealis! The man was already up and leaning against the sill, his breath condensing on the cold glass.  
"Maggie, look!"  
MacKenzie awoke to Red Green throwing a piece of fruit cake into a woodstove: "You know, fruit cake has the same properties as wood, including taste. You can keep a stove going for hours. And here's some: use a piece of fruit cake as a lovely parking brake. Use fruit cake as a boat anchor…"  
MacKenzie frowned in confusion.  
"No, the lights!" Fraser said, pointing at the window.  
"Oh…!"  
"Come on, let's go see them!"  
"Benton, it's thirty-five below with the wind chill."  
"I haven't seen the lights since I left for Chicago! I've been looking forward to this!"  
Fraser hastened to put his boots and coat on. Diefenbaker bustled around the living room eagerly.  
"Are you coming?" Fraser insisted.  
MacKenzie grunted and curled up on the sofa, pulling the lynx throw over her head.

The constable stepped outside, gaping in wonder as he progressed through the crisp snow; he could almost forget the glacial air running down his neck. He stopped a dozen meters away from the spruce barrier surrounding his sister's trailer; the edentulous conifers formed an asymmetrical lace above which the luminous veil flowed in smooth movements, an ever-changing picture surpassing the most skilful abstract painter's creation. Stars and distant planets offered a stable chart for these mathematical patterns to unfold, marking the dark expanse in bright specks scintillating with the aurora's undulations. Love and delight came pulsing through Fraser's chest; a powerful need to share this beauty overcame him. The man looked for Diefenbaker still skipping around with a limp and embraced him for a moment.

MacKenzie was about to doze off when images of Thrasher's hateful stare flashed into her mind. She had felt safe enough to fall asleep with Fraser sitting there, but now alone, she began to fret and pay attention to every suspicious sound. Drowsiness vanished in an instant. She wondered if she should get her mother's cabin blessed by a priest. She would ask Sergeant Matthews about it in the morning. MacKenzie wrapped herself into her moose hide parka, grasped the throw and joined her brother outside.  
"Maggie, you changed your mind?"  
MacKenzie placed the throw over Fraser's shoulders.  
"You must be freezing in that short patrol coat."  
"What about you?"  
"My parka's warm enough."  
"The wind's died down."  
"Yeah."  
Fraser's joy was complete. He drew his sister under the blanket and they huddled together to watch the show.

MacKenzie's first intention had been to chase her fear away through human company, yet something about this serene moving light murmured: Peace, be still. The heavenly arches bowed in circles before her very eyes as if to embrace her. The power infinitely greater than the power of darkness had manifested his authority; wouldn't they soon celebrate this victory? An unfathomable comfort began to trickle in. There was fear, still. But with it came a desire for understanding. A desire tied to a hope that nearly brought her to tears, because beyond it stood the solid truth she sought so dearly.


End file.
